


The Women of Marvel (Love Each Other)

by Em6347



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Ant-Man (Movies), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Crack Relationships, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, First Meetings, Rare Pairings, Well it was to start with
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-26 13:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9899219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em6347/pseuds/Em6347
Summary: Self-indulgent, random ships.And lesbians.Everyone's gay for each other, basically.(Chapters in the order they're tagged.)





	1. Maria/Beth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth gets a rescue, complete with Princess in Shining Armour.
> 
> Maria gets more than another stack of the good Captain's incomplete paperwork.

When Beth woke up in a dark room, head pounding and tied to a chair, she found it impossible to be surprised. Maybe it was the drugs she was sure were in her system (the room was still spinning) or maybe it was that it had been inevitable that this would happen at some point. She chatted with _Captain America_ at least once a week, someone was bound to come up with the bright idea of kidnapping her eventually.

It was the _why?_ Maybe someone wanted ransom money, or she was the bait for some super-psycho-villain to lure Steve, and the rest of the Avengers, into a trap. In either case she wasn't really worried. Long-term, at least. Steve would definitely come after her, and she was fairly confident the Avengers would be able to handle whatever they’d have to fight through to get to her.

Short-term, Beth had a fleeting worry about what might happen to her before they got here, but the thought was slippery and hard to hold on to. It was hard to worry about anything. _Drugged!_ She tried to remember that - everything was _not_ fine, she was _not_ safe, she couldn't pass out like a damn civilian…

Her head lolled forward and she was out cold.

 

The next time Beth fought her way into consciousness it was to the biting press of a knife against her throat. Whatever had been affecting her ability to be utterly terrified earlier had definitely worn off. She was frozen, the muscles in her neck taut and straining away from the weapon, the back of the chair digging into the base of her skull.

Terror buzzed in her ears like white noise. Her breathing was ragged, even as she tried desperately to quiet it and get a grip on whatever the hell was happening. There were angry voices, and Beth strained to understand.

 “You hear that?” Beth could distantly hear the rhythmic crashing of a fight, and not a very fair one, “That's the sound of the Avengers kicking ass, specifically your goons’. So give it up.” In her peripheral vision she could see the outline of the speaker - a woman by the voice - standing straight backed with her gun pointed at Beth’s attacker.

The man in question began laughing hysterically, and wasn't he doing everything possible to fit into the super-villain stereotype? Everything from kidnapping blonde friends (she was _not_ Steve’s girlfriend, or _any_ kind of love interest, as almost everyone who found out about him tried to imply) to the ridiculous, manic laugh.

 “Now why would I do that?” He leaned further over her, his breath heavy on her neck. This, coincidentally, curved his arm so that the hand holding the blade was dangling under Beth’s nose. And, not so coincidentally, Beth was very much done being the hostage.

In a moment of insanity, or genius depending on how you looked at it, she lurched forwards and sunk her teeth into the appendage. The move drove the knife edge along her skin, but it was worth the slow trickle of blood to hear the son of a bitch swearing and staggering away behind her.

The gun went off and she heard his body drop with a thud. Beth would never admit to the yelp that forced its way out of her throat, but the woman was kneeling by her feet instantly and she felt the rope around her ankles loosen.

 “It’s an ICER. He’s not dead.” Beth seriously considered asking what the hell an 'ICER’ was, but figured her dark-haired, blue-catsuit-wearing, all-around-badass saviour wouldn't appreciate it.

Both her wrists slipped free and the woman (Beth really hoped she was with the Avengers, else she was screwed big time) grabbed her arm to pull her up. She stood up, swaying, and stumbled forwards into the woman’s arms. She was sat down again carefully, and felt the light press of fingers against her throat.

 “Shit. Blood loss on top of sedatives, no wonder you’re acting loopy.” Beth smiled weakly.

 “I think that's just me.”

The woman grinned briefly, blue eyes shining, then became serious as she placed a finger on her ear piece.

 “Yeah, I've got her. Steve, she can barely stand- … _fine_.” She gave the empty air an exasperated look. “I'm going to have a serious talk with him about how to properly report civilian contacts. And how to set up surveillance. And how…” She carried on muttering as she slipped one arm around Beth's shoulders, the other under her knees, and then suddenly she was hoisted into the woman's arms. Bridal style.

Later, Beth would be embarrassed and a touch scandalised at how quickly she latched onto that thought, and the unfiltered rambling that followed.

(Maria would smile fondly, and remind her she was in shock and that a complete loss of the senses is normal under the circumstances.)

 “My knight in shining armour. Or knightess? Knightette? What do you call a female knight? Does that make me your princess? I _definitely_ don't mind. Or maybe you should be the princess and I'll be the knight? Destroy gender roles and all that. Wait, gender roles don't apply. We can both be princesses!”

The woman stared at her for several seconds, one impeccable eyebrow arched.

 “Sure.” Beth beamed and continued to ramble about princesses and castle quality assurance (who knows where that came from, apparently she was extremely practical even in shock) until her saviour reached a charred and crumbling section of wall - she felt a stab of disappointment and longing for the _awesome_ entrance she must have missed - and passed through into open air. Looking over the woman's shoulder, Beth saw what looked like an abandoned warehouse, which was now going to require some serious maintenance if it was ever going to be useable again.

She felt them go up a small incline and turned round again to see the interior of a strange spy plane appearing around them. After everything that had happened that day, she didn't even blink at an invisible plane.

 “Beth!” Steve appeared in front of her and she felt herself passed over and suddenly she was being cradled by a strangely firm American flag. Shifting her gaze up from the uniform to Steve’s face she smiled tiredly, everything suddenly getting to her.

Beth spent the next couple of hours curled up next to Steve, being fussed over by Dr Banner and accepting occasional offers of water and crackers from Natasha - who she knew from the few times she had joined Steve at the café.

Finally the plane touched down on the pad at the top of Avengers Tower and she was picked up again, Steve murmuring in her ear about giving her a ride home. Before they could leave the jet (Mr Stark had been very offended by his creation being reduced to a 'common plane’), Beth spotted the woman sitting in the co-pilot seat, typing on a Stark Pad, and patted Steve's arm to get him to pause.

By this point, her eyelids felt like they weighed several tonnes and all she wanted was to fall into bed, but even her lack-of-sleep addled brain knew the woman deserved a thank you. She would forever blame her exhaustion for her wording, though.

 “Thanks for my rescue, princess.” She saw Natasha grin widely out of the corner of her eye, but didn't dwell on it, her dwindling focus fixed on the woman, who was smiling, seemingly despite herself.

 “You’re welcome.”

Beth was passed out before Steve even made it out of the jet.

 

A week later, once she'd been given the all clear to head to work from Dr Banner, she was surprised to see the woman sitting at Steve's usual table, typing on her Stark Pad again. She looked up and smiled as Beth walked over.

 “Hi.”

 “Hi...” Beth’s voice trailed off awkwardly, cursing herself for never even asking her name. Her smile widened.

 “Maria.”

_It fits,_ Beth thought, _Princess Maria._ The woman - Maria - burst out laughing and Beth turned scarlet, realising that she'd spoken out loud.

 “Princess Elizabeth and Princess Maria,” said the grinning brunette. “I can work with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The general idea is to do a different pairing for each chapter, mostly first meetings.
> 
> Updates will probably come fast while I have prewritten stuff, and after that who knows?
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated, thank you muchly!


	2. Natasha/Sif

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha gets some welcome backup.
> 
> Very, very welcome.

It had happened fast.

A portal had opened in the middle of New York City, and didn't _that_ sound familiar? Though it was completely different from the first portal. At least according to Jane, now their resident emergency scientist (Tony and Bruce had finally tired of researching whole new branches of science overnight, apparently). She had given them a briefing in a breathy voice, seemingly torn between horror at the _things_ pouring out of it and wonder at the science behind its appearance.

If you asked Natasha, there was _nothing_ wonderful about this.

The Avengers (minus Hulk) had rushed out into the city for damage control while Jane and Bruce worked on a way to close the damn thing back in the tower. All of which had led to where she was right now: crouched behind a mangled car, out of bullets, and watching one of the disgusting things advance. She was pretty sure she heard Thor muttering about bilgesnipe, whatever they were, before he took off.

Exhaling, Natasha dropped into a fighting stance, activating her gauntlets and pulling out her knife. Designed by Tony and the best of SI’s R&D department, it was one of her favourite pieces in the team’s arsenal. The blade was made of vibranium, and a more compact version of her Widow’s Bite was built into the top of the hilt, so she could both stab and electrocute in one strike.

Was she a little bit in love? Absolutely.

A chilling snarl echoed above her and she looked up, and up, until she was staring into black, beady eyes. She blinked. The thing lunged forward, spiked tail swinging round- then white light erupted in front of her eyes.

She was completely blinded, and not for the first time appreciative (never grateful) of her Red Room training, as she flipped backwards away from the burst of light automatically. Her brain began to make deductions based on the information streaming in from her other senses as though switching to a different frequency.

A swish of air past her face, and wasn't it lucky she’d moved? The tail, swinging behind it as it lumbered around to face something. A strangled female yell- definitely a battle cry. Some _one_ then. Natasha spent the next few minutes dodging the limbs of the creature, blinking furiously to try and rid the spots from her vision.

It was incredibly frustrating being a bystander to a fight, especially in her own city, but judging by the distressed noises coming from the creature its opponent was holding her own.

Finally, as Natasha began to see clearly again, the creature crashed to the ground in front of her, howling in pain. Too fast, not enough air disturbance for her to be able to dodge. She hissed as a spike dragged across her shoulder, rolling away and immediately cataloguing the damage. A scratch running from the back of her neck to the top of her shoulder, not too deep. She really hoped those things didn't carry any kind of poison.

Natasha looked around. It was carnage; she couldn't see an intact window anywhere, and the buildings on either side of the street had worrying damage to support pillars. Gouge marks deep and wide enough for a car to fit comfortably (and she knew because several had disappeared into them) stood out against the asphalt, but her focus was drawn to the looming corpse sprawled before her. More specifically, to the woman kneeling on top of it.

Definitely Asgardian, her armour gleaming in the afternoon sunlight - except in the places it was smeared with the creature’s dark blood. She was gripping a wicked looking double-ended sword, one end buried in the creature’s neck and the other sticking up in front of her. The warrior glanced up, sensing Natasha’s eyes on her, and stood, balancing on the thing’s back to withdraw her sword before jumping to the ground.

Rising from her landing crouch she walked forward confidently; Natasha fell into a defensive stance without thinking.

 “Are you an ally of Thor’s?” She called out as she continued to advance, her dark hair flowing out behind her.

 “Yes.” Natasha really hoped she was asking because she was Thor’s friend and not his enemy. The last thing they needed was another Loki.

 “Then we need not fight. I have travelled here though the Bifrost with orders from the All Father to aid him in the destruction of these foul creatures.”

 “Good to know.”

They stood facing each other, a few steps apart in the centre of a battle field. Unlike Natasha, the Asgardian seemed very much in her element; she had been trained to fight openly, in glorious battles. Natasha had been created for a world of espionage, and often felt a powerful urge to slink back into the shadows.

 “ _Lady Natasha,_ ” Thor’s voice blared through her earpiece, and she was glad of Tony’s forethought in permanently lowering Thor’s volume when in the field. “ _Am I mistaken in thinking that I had witnessed the opening of the Bifrost?_ ”

 “No, we have Asgardian back up. Female: sword and shield.”

 “ _Ah! Lady Sif has come to our aid!”_ Her head jerked sideways in an attempt to get away from the sheer volume of Thor's excitement - it seemed Tony's precautions could only do so much. She looked up at Sif.

 “He says hi.” Sif smiled with a painted understanding.

 “I heard.” Natasha grinned.

 “Steve, where do you need us?”

 “ _Ask the eyes in the sky, Nat!_ ” Steve’s reply was slightly breathless, and Natasha heard several low growls in the background. Cap was busy then.

 “Well, asshole?”

 “ _That hurts_ ,” Clint’s chuckles could be heard in between the rhythmic twanging of his bow string. “ _The tin can’s_ _surrounded. He's not too far, other side of Central Park._ ” She signalled to Sif and started jogging in that direction immediately, keeping an eye out for anymore of the creatures nearby. “ _And Nat?_ ”

 “What?”

 “ _How come you get the smoking hot Asgardian?_ ” She switched off her earpiece rather than give that a reply. She could practically _hear_ Clint’s grin.

She turned to tell Sif they were getting close to Tony, she could already hear his blasters in the distance, but was distracted by the blush on her cheeks, which she was fairly sure hadn't been caused by the exertion. Natasha couldn't help thinking how it highlighted her eyes- and yeah, maybe Clint was right about the warrior being extremely attractive.

 “Is your ally always so… brash?” Natasha glanced at her, and Sif resolutely refused to meet her eyes.

 “Yes.” And because it was still always satisfying to flirt for her own enjoyment, and Sif _was_ unfairly gorgeous, “He’s not wrong, despite his 'brashness’.” Sif did look at her then, surprised and pleased.

 “You think I am… smoking hot?” Natasha couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of her, and nearly tripped over a curb in her moment of distraction. Sif’s smile dimmed, unsure of herself, and Natasha quickly continued.

 “I'd go for 'stunningly beautiful’, but it's the same sentiment.” Sif’s reply was drowned out by a snarl from behind her, and as the Asgardian whirled to face the beast an object flew past her head, whirring and humming oddly, and buried itself in the creature's shoulder. The beast spasmed and convulsed, crashing to the ground. Natasha walked past her, perfectly composed, retrieving her weapon from the corpse and crouching to wipe the blade on a patch of grass.

 “You have my thanks, Lady Natasha.” Natasha's mouth twisted in distaste as she stood, sheathing her knife against her thigh once more. Sif frowned, had she blundered? Should not a fraction of Fandral's charm have been gifted to her after their years of companionship? “Is that not the name Thor called you by?”

 “Natasha’s fine.” Sif stared at her. “What?”

 “Is it common, on Midgard, to refer to one another without using one’s proper title?” Natasha considered it.

 “It's a sign of friendship, I suppose.” Tension drained from Sif’s shoulders, but she also seemed severely disappointed. “Why? What does it mean on Asgard?”

 “It is a sign of closeness, reserved only for family, and- and lovers- those with a romantic bond.” She was back to avoiding Natasha’s eyes, and so missed the slow smile spreading across her face.

 “Well, _Sif_ ,” she emphasised the distinct lack of title, “Natasha is still fitting.” As Sif was trying to work out if Natasha meant what she thought (and thoroughly hoped) she meant, the Ironman suit sailed over them, landing with a spray of concrete in a parking lot to their left. Tony’s loud swearing could be heard from their position.

 “Maybe we should go help.” Natasha was eyeing the stampede of creatures closing in on Tony’s metal-covered ass. His suit seemed to be malfunctioning; he wasn't taking off.

 “Of course.” Sif was still looking at Natasha. The redhead started to move away, but a hand caught her arm and she was spun back round to face Sif. Before she could even think about protesting, soft lips covered her own.

 “For luck.” Sif said as she pulled back, now blushing terribly (beautifully), and a little breathless. Natasha arched an eyebrow.

 “That common on Asgard?”

 “ _Don't get me wrong, in different circumstances I would not be complaining about the view, but if you ladies could round it up, I'm in need of rescue!_ ”

One day, Natasha was going to kill Tony Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated, thank you muchly!


	3. Jane/Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A convention that should have been a waste of time and money turns out to not be quite as boring as expected.

_The Convention for Advancements in The Manipulation of Space-Time._

 

Somehow, no matter how much money people threw at these things, they always managed to feel like a science fair. A large room full of expectant adults and kids, clutching their coke and mentos volcanoes, expecting praise. Every now and then there's a stand with an original idea, sometimes it's even genius, but the adults don't understand and so (because they'd rather ignore genius than admit they know less than a kid) they walk on by.

Jane felt _exactly_ like that kid.

It was like she'd regressed into her teenage self, complete with the urge to stamp her feet and scream at the world.

 “These people need their heads surgically removed from their asses.” You could always count on Darcy to say what everyone was thinking.

As conventions went, at least this one had free champagne. SHIELD had flown Jane, Darcy and Ian out to Berlin to attend, and she'd taken too much delight in wasting their money to refuse. Another man stopped to stare that her display. His eyes skimmed over the contents of their discreet little table, glazing over slightly in the face of complicated blueprints and intricate, Stark-sleek engineering, and Jane watched as it all condensed down into ‘not weapon’ in his head and he turned away without a word.

Darcy and Ian made identical faces at his back. Darcy was nothing if not a bad influence.

Jane wondered again what she was even doing here. She wouldn't be surprised if she was currently acting as bait to draw out anyone with an interest in alien technology, and with enough money to do something about it. If that was really what SHIELD had brought her here for, then so far they'd been out of luck. No one here seemed to be interested in anything except what could make the biggest bang.

 “Excuse me, Doctor?” Jane turned.

 “Uh…” What was that phrase? You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar? Jane thought this woman was definitely the honey SHIELD had sent her after. Wait- no, what? Ugh. Why did she always lose her mind when presented with a pretty face?

The woman smiled a small smile, and Jane wasn't sure whether she was being laughed at or having her always desired first impression of competency annihilated, or both, but the dark haired and smartly dressed woman _definitely_ knew what had turned Jane’s brain to mush.

 “Doctor Foster?” Jane gulped.

 “Yes?”

 “My name is Hope van Dyne, I’m with Pym Technologies. We were wondering whether you could answer a few queries.” She spoke in the way only the best professionals managed, the ‘This Is What Is Going To Happen’ tone of voice. As it happened, it also turned out to be the 'Goodbye Jane’s Brain’ tone of voice.

After a pause, which lasted more than a few seconds longer than socially acceptable and was caused entirely by Jane staring at Hope’s face and forgetting what words were, Darcy stepped forward.

 “I'm sure Doctor Foster will be happy to help.” She threw her a look, and Jane knew she wasn't going to like whatever came next. “With _anything_. Anytime. Even during lab time. That's a big thing for Jane, believe me.”

Ian snickered. Darcy snickered. Jane considered killing both of them. (Hope raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow.)

Jane could feel her blush spreading, and quietly kissed goodbye any chance she had of starting a relationship while maintaining any contact with Darcy. And though she'd probably continue to bemoan the fact, she found she didn't really mind. She and Darcy had been through some weird shit together, after all. Still, the damn woman had been stunning.

 “That sounds _wonderful_.”

Jane's head snapped up. Hope was smirking at her, and Jane's body was reacting in all sorts of interesting ways.

 “But my question first: Will your machine replicate the lensing around the boundaries of the event as with an Einstein-Rosen Bridge?”

Jane stared at her, sure she could feel herself falling just a little bit hopelessly in love. She did spare a thought to the fact that this probably _was_ the ‘interested and rich’ party that SHIELD _was_ probably after, and spent a  second daring to dream that Hope wasn't involved in anything nefarious. Then she decided she probably had enough clout with SHIELD that it didn't matter what she got mixed up in anyway.

 _Then_ she did what she tended to do in these situations, although it wasn't very scientific of her, and jumped in head first.

 “Well, it's all based on my hypothesis that…”

 

(She would later discover that Darcy had snapped a picture of her face while still under the 'Hope Van Dyne Is Talking To Me’ spell, which led to a 20 minute, frantic chase around the lab until Hope hacked Darcy’s iPod, sent the photo to herself and made it her background on _everything_. Jane would be too embarrassed - and not-so-secretly pleased - to continue her rampage.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated, thank you muchly!


	4. Natasha/Maria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Natalia became Natasha and Agent Hill became Maria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEWARE: Tiny, tiny reference to Natasha's involuntary sterilisation.
> 
> Also, angst and drabble-y-ness.
> 
> You have been warned.

Maria Hill is the first face Natasha (then still Natalia, still KGB, still the legend without a soul) ever sees at SHIELD.

She's not the first agent she's had contact with, in or out of the SHIELD facility, because she's been lying and dancing and killing since she was old enough to hold a knife and the masked agents herding her down these corridors are not the first rough American hands to try and grip her.

Maria (then still Agent Hill) does not have rough hands. Her voice is hard and cold as she berates Barton for not filling her body with lead, or whatever material his ridiculous arrows were made with. Madam B’s voice echoes inside her head. _Sloppy. Flashy. Recognisable. Do not make this mistake, Natalia. Do not do this._

She will. She has made her choice.

Maria does not have rough hands, but she will not discover this until she has proven her loyalty. Until she's bleeding out in a quaint, cobbled alley in Budapest and Maria’s hands are too busy saving her life to linger and Clint picks off swarming KGB agents with his same amazing, unwavering accuracy, steadfastly ignoring his trembling hands.

On this occasion, the first occasion, she directs Natasha to a cell with brisk movements, closing the transparent door behind her. If SHIELD is smart, the material will be something stronger than bullet-proof glass.

 

In the intervening days many people come to see her, to prod and poke and test. There are doctors, and Natasha is too well trained to flinch at needles and syringes filled with unidentified substances. She almost kills the kind woman who tries to examine the thin, smooth scar across her abdomen. Her memento from her Graduation.

That gets her a few days with only psychologists for company, but food is never withheld. Scalpels, pokers, pliers: tools she knows so well (tools she has been on both ends of) are never brought out against her.  The psychologists each, one by one, leave with stony faces. She tries not to lie, and doesn't, for the most part. It's excruciatingly difficult.

She knows when she must have been declared sane, because that's when the interrogators come. She suffers through it; _feeling_ the rolling guilt she can't tuck away, the icy anger of her homeland. The Red Room’s teachings curl around her like the oily smog of a heavy industry town, refuse to be scrubbed away like coal dust.

Her interrogation is still unnecessary, and it is a lucky thing for SHIELD. Already she has been gifted with the evidence she needs to reinforce her pride, to find purchase, and she knows her talent for extracting information is only the beginning.

15 days, 22 hours and 14 minutes pass before she sees Agent Hill again. She strides down the hallway towards her, an excited and clearly healing Barton trailing behind, and enters the code for Natasha's cell. (66498036. She has known since Day 6, although she acknowledges that it’s mostly irrelevant when she has no access to the keypad and no imminent rescue.)

Natasha steps out (and she is almost Natasha by now, even if she won't take her name until a debriefing shortly after this), making sure not so show any caution, any fear. She matches Agent Hill’s stance, and she waits.

The agent’s eyes sweep up and down her body, appraising in a way she was never trained for. Measuring her against some criteria she didn't understand, couldn't mould herself to fit.

Natasha is granted an almost imperceptible nod.

 “Follow me.”

She does.

 

The day Agent Hill becomes Maria is roughly six months later. When the masses at SHIELD have stopped their hands twitching towards their guns, when their awed respect has become palpable in the air around her, scratching at her edges like a skin-tight cage of thorns.

By that time, Natasha _knows_ Maria. Knows where she’d have to push, what she'd have to be in order to snare her. Surprisingly, she doesn't want to. Oh, she wants Maria snared, wants her entangled in her web, but she wants _more._

And that is _terrifying_.

She wants Maria to like her, to want _her_. Madam B is still with her. _A disappointment, Natalia,_ _how_ _unbecoming_.

She shouldn't even consider pursuing this, shouldn't want this.

She will. She does. She has made her choice, and she has chosen this.

She knocks on Maria’s apartment door.

As it turns out, she doesn't need to push, or morph, or snare. Maria _knows_ Natasha, too.

 

Maria is there (she is always there, but it feels more significant, more vital) when Natasha's world ends. When her regime falls.

(When she weeps.)

In those 48 hours, she lost Clint, first. And it was hard. She felt vulnerable, stripped bare, unworthy. She still owed a debt. She would always owe a debt.

She lost Clint, and she clung to the presence of Maria, Coulson, Fury, and she fought for him, and she got him back.

She won. Only she didn't, because Clint’s words - _have you ever had someone take your brain and play_ \- are still echoing in her head, and it’s all wrong, because he isn't supposed to _know_.

But she sat with Clint and tried in her own way to hold him together, spoke of becoming a soldier. Then she went and she fought, and found her team, her purchase, and closed the wormhole and captured Loki.

She won against the monsters and magic. Only she didn't, because Fury’s reassurances - _he died for what he believed in, his heroes_ \- and Clint's screams and sobs are still echoing, echoing, and she can't tuck them away, and she's crying into Maria’s shoulder, and Maria's crying into hers, and they're a mess of tears and blood.

 

They're thrust into a new world: Monsters and magic and _superheroes_. And everyone knew, the people of the Earth had witnessed the becoming of aliens and gods.

She thought, then, that it was more than revealing enough to have her alias, the name of her legend, seared onto the retinas of the world.

She hadn't foreseen what was coming.

 

Fury dies. Maria is there. SHIELD falls. Natasha survives only because SHIELD has not been her regime for awhile, not been her God or guiding hand.

She loses herself at some point, though. Between the Red Room and SHIELD and Widow and HYDRA and Friend.

She finds herself again in the back of a van, in the belly of the beast, with a bullet in her shoulder and her eyes staring into Maria’s face.

 “God, that thing was squeezing my brain.”

And Natasha wants to laugh and cry and kiss her and slap her but she's too shocked to do anything, because for once she _hadn't_ _known_. She'd been prepared to drift. (Too much of her blood is oozing from her, her own red in her ledger, on her hands.)

Maria pulls out a laser cutter - and Natasha should have known then that no one would dare touch the Director's toys without his express permission any more than they would Coulson’s - and cuts through the van's floor and the asphalt beneath like a 525°C scalpel through flesh.

They drop down one at a time; Sam goes, Maria, and then Steve is lowering her and Maria's hands are around her waist, holding her, supporting her, and the second her feet touch the floor Natasha's arms are around her neck and her lips are on hers.

Sam wolf-whistles somewhere behind them, and Steve drops down seemingly just to silence him, a light pink dusting on his cheekbones and a happy grin on his face.

Sometimes, only on her worst days, just being around good, kind, accepting Steve makes Natasha’s skin constrict: a vice of her failings. She can't shake parts of her training, even now; she still needs to transform, to integrate, to act like she already knows everything so the target will reveal information without question. Steve is one more reason to try.

They break apart and Maria looks her up and down, and it's loving and worried and so different from that first time that Natasha's heart flutters. ( _Love is for children._ She doesn't know if she believes it, anymore.)

Maria is her foremost reason.

They limp down the tunnel, leaning on each other, their friends and allies at their backs.

They will patch themselves up, and then they will save the world.

 

Natasha finds Maria, afterwards. They pick themselves up. Put each other back together.

It takes months. Months of working, fighting, killing in the day, and curling close at night. Months of screaming, and broken furniture, and waking from nightmares and not being alone. Months of soft kisses, and gentle hands.

Clint finds the both of them sometime later. The three of them find Coulson.

But that's another story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never tried to write anything even remotely like this, let alone posted it, so all feedback is definitely welcome.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated, thank you muchly!


	5. Rosalind/Beth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth meets the highly intimidating head of the shadowy ACTU, and manages not to get kidnapped and/or killed.
> 
> (Also, gets her number.)

 “Beth?”

 “Yeah?”

Her boss smiled at her from behind the register.

 “Table 5 askin’ for ya.” A grin spread across her face as she nodded and headed outside, her trainers squeaking against the cheap floor. It was still weird to think that Captain America was her regular. Steve was such a sweet guy, always a 20 buck tip in exchange for her ‘help’. In other words, she always answered his sheepish questions about the strange, impossible things in his new crazy world. Beth would never forget the time she spent half an hour trying to explain memes to him. _But why? And don't the chumps complain?_

The bright afternoon light reflected off the windows on the building opposite into her eyes, meaning she had to squint as she stepped outside. It also meant that it wasn't until she was a few feet away she realised that it was not Steve waiting for her at table 5.

A dark-haired woman sat casually in the plastic chair. She looked like a business woman, dressed in a sharp navy blazer and talking seriously into her phone. An expensive looking handbag was placed at her feet, but something about her made Beth much more worried for the soul that tried something. Nervously she remained in place for a moment, trying to guess why this woman would ask specifically for _her_ ; it was a bit of a stupid question. There was only one reason anyone would be interested in Beth Jordan: Steve.

Of course, she regularly chatted with _Captain America_ ; it was inevitable this would happen at some point. She shouldn't even be surprised. If this woman _was_ interested in her because of Steve, and she knew that Steve was Cap, then this was probably serious and attempting to avoid it would be pointless. Possibilities flashed through her mind: being followed, kidnapped, tor- no. It was best to get this over with. She marched up to the woman.

 “Can I help you?” Beth tried to sound at least civil, but she really wasn't sure she succeeded. The woman glanced up at her. She was older, maybe 30? With green eyes that cut straight through you. If she was a business woman Beth could see how she managed it. She held up a finger and quickly ended the conversation, lowering her phone with a smile. Beth tried not to notice how disarming it was. _Possible spy lady_ , she reminded herself.

 “Yes, can I get an espresso please?” Beth couldn't help but smile back.

 “Of course.” She noted the order down and turned away, daring to hope for one moment that there was nothing funny going on here.

 “Beth.” Damn. She looked back.

 “Seen Steve Rogers lately?”

 “Not recently.” Beth figured it was useless to play dumb. And it was true, Steve hadn't been around for the last week, probably on a mission. She presumed that’s what he was always off doing, anyway.

 “Would you mind passing on a message?” She gestured at the seat opposite.

 “Why can't _you_ just contact him? Or Stark, isn't he the Avengers representative?” But she sat down. She couldn't force herself to be afraid of this woman. It wasn't because she was female (she’d stood behind Romanov in a corner store once and watched her buy 3 bottles of vodka), she just seemed the complete opposite of every bad guy she’d ever encountered. And this was New York, the Trouble Magnet; she'd met a few.

 “The message is quite sensitive, and I'd prefer an account from someone they trust, and ideally someone who believes that my organisation is _not_ a bunch of supremacist thugs.” Beth almost opened her mouth to protest at being labeled ‘trusted’, but then got sidetracked by the rest of her sentence, because that didn't sound ominous at _all._ She tried to ask the smart question.

 “Your organisation?” The woman (she really needed to get her name), smiled again, and this time Beth couldn't deny how effortlessly it put her at ease. How this woman put her at ease.

 “The ATCU.”

Half an hour, 2 espressos and a surprising amount of actual explanations later, Beth comes back from serving another customer to find the woman gone. For a second she inexplicably feels like she’s been punched in the gut, till she notices the papers trapped under one of the coffee cups.

There’s 20 bucks, plus a cell number scrawled on the napkin, with a short note underneath.

 

_Sorry, had to run. Keep in touch._

_Rosalind._

_X_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated, thank you muchly!


	6. Darcy/Daisy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy is officially done with superheroes and their dressing-down by proxy, until she meets Daisy.
> 
> Then she’s still done with them, but at least something good came of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't any plot spoilers for s4, but I borrowed the concept of LMDs for this.
> 
> Also, bonus Clint/Phil.

Basically, this is how Darcy's day(s?) has gone so far:

 

 **04:17** : Captain America called. That had been both _wow_ and _ewwww_. Wow, because _hello_ it was Captain America, Hero of New York, owner of an ass unsurpassed since 1945 (though that was less impressive since she'd spent so much time in close proximity to Thor’s godly arms). Ew, because it was still four in the damn morning. National hero several times over or not, that was just rude.

 **05:03** : But she's a nice person. So at Cap’s request she was stood in the nearest isolated patch of desert, freezing her tits off and waiting to board a jet to Wakanda.

 **05:26** : The damn jet actually arrived.

 **22:31** : After a ten hour flight (which she’d thought was an impossibly short trip, but hadn't been willing to argue about maximum speeds with her I-could-incapacitate-you-in-0.3-seconds chaperone) and some time zone mind-fuckery, she landed on Wakandan soil. Royal-owned Wakandan soil, apparently.

 **22:56** : She was ushered into a debriefing that probably involved unhealthy amounts of caffeine for a mortal such as herself, but her internal clock had already been screwed up so badly it may as well be time observed from an objective, non-linear viewpoint, and who even cared what time it was anymore? (Not superheroes.)

 **22:57** : She made the discovery that iPod thief is alive (and kicking, punching and karate-chopping, it seemed), and now _she_ was the one going to beat him up, or taze him, for not making the Avengers aware, apparently.

 **23:01** : “Seriously, guys, you could have just told me over the phone.” Sam took in her mussed hair and impressive under-eye bags with a sympathetic wince, but Natasha just shook her head. (She was on a first name basis with everyone now, so that was cool.)

 “Phone calls out of Wakanda are being monitored, a masked call would have been even more suspicious. Especially if it was made to you, you're definitely under some surveillance.”

Darcy decided to ignore _that_ disturbing tidbit of information until later and focus on the giant gaping hole in that logic.

 “Won't my disappearing in the dead of night be a little suspicious?” Everyone paused, and then T’Challa waved a hand towards the unobtrusive guards gathered in a corner.

 “Someone organise a… holiday, for Miss Lewis.”

 **23:24** : She led a group therapy session with a seething (heart-broken) archer and a furious Russian assassin, both of whom drink vodka like water, which she _deserves_ to charge them for later. By the minute.

 **00:08** : Back on the laws-of-physics-breaking jet, flying out to perform her sacred duty to deliver second-hand death threats.

 **08:29** : She'd slept at some point, but had just given up with keeping the exact time. It was early morning here. Maybe. Hopefully early morning was acceptable visiting hours for clandestine agents. Her entourage dropped her off and promptly abandoned her on the front porch of a top-secret secret-base-oh-sorry-classified-facility. Wonderful.

Which brings us up to **_08:31,_** **_Present Day_** , and the disembodied (and very pissed-off sounding) voice telling her to ‘put her hands up, right the hell now’. _Wonderful_.

Darcy did as she was told. She was a certified Queen of Sass and currently on a revenge mission to taze the shadowy second Director of a covert organisation; she wasn't suicidal.

Black-clothed agents streamed out of an unassuming door, swarming around her like ants. She felt cuffs _click_ closed around her wrists, and she was hurriedly ushered inside. Darcy wondered if they normally went in for a black bag over the head.

The inside of the base had a hipster-grunge style that could have fit right in with a college student’s art studio. Except for the gleaming weapons and intricate lab equipment filling every room, of course.

She was just being led to what looked suspiciously like a very comfortably decorated cell, when she saw Coulson at the other end of the corridor, several agents trailing behind him.

Well, she'd been tasked by Captain America himself.

“Hey, iPod thief! The Avengers are extrem-... Why, _hello_.”

Coulson was flanked on both sides by two beautiful Asian women; both looked like their Lethal Ninja Skills grade was A+.

But Darcy was staring at - read: ogling - the woman to his left. She was gorgeous, all short, dark hair and bright, dark eyes, and her catsuit (probably named something more respectable, but Darcy knew a catsuit when she saw one) clearly showed her body was something to marvel at.

 “Miss Lewis?” Coulson's voice snapped her out of it. Mostly. She was still a little star-struck. He sounded amused, but something in his raised eyebrow told Darcy exactly who had the responsibility of giving the shovel talk. Though, there was a tall (and she meant _tall_ ) black guy standing further back trying to look intimidating. And succeeding. It was a shared responsibility, then. “You were saying?”

She had to blink at him a couple of times before she remembered why she was even there.

 “Yeah, hi." She raised both her cuffed hands to give the assembled agents a jaunty wave. "Messenger for the Avengers here. They are _pissed_. Especially Clint. And don't doubt that I picked up on whatever _thing_ you two have, 'cause for a superspy he's unusually messed up over the whole resurrection thing. Oh! And I was specifically instructed to convey what I have to say are some _pretty creative_ threats from Natasha, but I've decided I'll spare you. You can thank me with an iPod.”

All eyebrows in the room had been steadily rising, but at her last comment Miss Catsuit’s face split into a grin. Darcy couldn't help thinking it was an improvement on blank/unimpressed, which by the way had _definitely_ been taught by Coulson’s right-hand.

She glanced down at the tablet she was holding.

 “She's human, and clean of listening devices, trackers, or anything more exciting. _And_ I like her.” Coulson smiled at her, but it was shaky, and the agents around him all immediately looked concerned, a couple stepping closer. The second woman put a careful hand on his shoulder.

It was quite sweet, actually.

He seemed to get a hold of himself, and addressed the group at large.

 “If the Avengers are back in the loop, that changes how we handle this. I'll go make the calls.” He turned back to the younger woman, whose worry was almost tangible, “Daisy, help Miss Lewis to the guest rooms.”

The woman - Daisy - seemed like she was going to argue, but a pointed look from Coulson kept her quiet.

She still smiled at Darcy, already heading towards a slightly more lived-in corridor.

 “Follow me, then.”

She was quite happy to. She raised an eyebrow at one of the black-clothed agents behind her, and pointedly shook her still cuffed hands at him. He glanced nervously at Coulson, but he just nodded absently, a phone already in his hand.

As she left, she looked back and met the eyes of the older woman. Darcy gulped. There was definitely no need for an actual 'talk’; she’d gotten the message loud and clear.

 “So, DC and Hawkeye had a thing?” Daisy asked, as soon as Darcy caught up.

 “Still _have_ , hopefully. If the guy could just apply some of his freaky people-reading skills to his own damn people. Or if Natasha gets her hands on the both of them. I don't really think she holds with pussy-footing.”

Daisy was grinning at her again.

 “Neither do you, by the sound of it.” Darcy didn't think that really needed an answer. The agent (she presumed she was an agent, anyway) stopped by a door and started fiddling with the keypad embedded in the wall beside it, code flying across the tiny screen. “You know,” She sounded thoughtful now, “I’ve been looking for a handler for a while now. For my team. We could… use someone like you.”

Darcy had a shit-eating grin plastered all over her face.

 “Like me?” She blushed a pretty pink, and Darcy had a feeling that was some kind of clue to exactly _what_ was going on here. (She _really_ hoped so.)

 “No time for bullshit, and practically a force of nature? You'd be amazing.” It shouldn't be possible for her grin to get any wider.

 “You saying you want to keep me around?”

 “Yeah.” She seemed to realise what she was admitting, and suddenly looked about 20 times as embarrassed, gorgeous doe eyes wide. Adorable. “I- I mean, SHIELD needs more people that can deal with all the crazy shit, Miss Lewis-”

 “Darcy.” She glanced down at the floor for a moment, considering, and smiled.

 “Darcy, then. Are you interested?”

Well, New Mexico had been boring without Jane: The Alien Magnet. This would probably include some excitement.

 “Sure. When do I start?”

Just then, the corridor was plunged into darkness. By the time the red emergency lights came on about 3 seconds later, and the alarms started blaring, Darcy had her taser out (the guards hadn't even patted her down, did she _really_ look that defenceless?) and aimed squarely at the sparking and frighteningly life-like robot stood at the end of the corridor.

 “Now, apparently.”

Before she had a chance to say anything to that, or do the sensible thing and just shoot, a wave of… something streamed past her and the robot went flying into the wall. She turned to look at Daisy, one arm out-stretched and the gauntlets gleaming.

Well then.

 “... _Wow_.” Daisy - _Quake_ \- shrugged lightly.

 “Thanks.”

Then a blast of something crashed into the wall next to Darcy's head, sending bits of brick flying everywhere, and they both dropped to the floor. Daisy grimaced, peeking around the corner at the advancing (and freakishly dented) robot.

 “Well that's new.” Darcy just sighed. The thing suddenly lumbered into view. Daisy sent another wave at it, but had to duck another blast and missed. The robot advanced.

Darcy aimed and fired. It dropped to the ground in an impressive explosion of sparks.

Daisy stared up at her incredulously from her position on the floor.

 “LMDs are _way_ too advanced to be taken out by a _taser_. _How_?” Darcy shifted her baby from hand to hand, smiling fairly smugly.

 “Asgardian engineering. Thor has _lightning powers_ , you know.” She gestured at her gauntlets.

 “ _Your_ team?” Daisy grinned back, a proud expression on her face.

 “The Secret Warriors.” Darcy gave her an arch look.

 “Really?” She shrugged.

 “DC got naming rights.”

 “That… explains it perfectly, actually. So…” She looked around at the destroyed corridor, rocking on her heels. “What now?”

Screaming erupted somewhere to their right. Daisy stood up carefully, sending out little pulses to test her gauntlets.

 “We go help with the weaponized LMDs. And listen to Mack and Yo-yo’s endless Terminator references, so prepare yourself.”

She teetered for a terrifying moment, and Darcy lunged forward to support her.

 “It’s fine. I'm fine.” Darcy realised how she was standing, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her opposite hip. It was too easy to twist herself slightly so they were face to face, Daisy in her arms. And then she kissed her; she'd never done subtle very well.

Daisy was breathless when they broke apart and pressed their foreheads together, temporarily ignoring the chaos elsewhere. Darcy just watched her, in awe. Then a possibility occurred to her.

 “Am I still hired?” Daisy smiled, pulling back fully and offering her hand, which Darcy took immediately.

 “You're still hired.”

They ran towards the mayhem, Darcy feeling unbelievably giddy, but she held on tight.

Somebody needed to tell T’Challa to extend her ‘holiday’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to writing action, so I hope that wasn't grating to read.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated, thank you muchly!


	7. Sif/Lorelei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For as long as they'd known each other, it had always been the same.
> 
> Lorelei would try to forge her kingdom, and Sif would tear it down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. episode 1.15, 'Yes Men'.

“You could have been better than this.”

Lorelei rolled her eyes. She'd been paraded through the streets like a common criminal, jeered at by lesser men and women. She'd been subjected to a _trial_ in the 'All Father’s Court' (and wasn't Loki a clever little Prince?), and now she'd been sentenced to a lifetime imprisoned in this cell.

Sif had been tasked with escorting her.

Ah, Sif. There had been something… alluring, about her. A rare challenge. She had not been a man; she had never been one of those pathetic creatures whose whims are fashioned so easily by her own. She had not been searching for power or riches, and such had not been one of the many maidens prepared to throw themselves at her feet.

She _had_ been a strong-willed, beautiful warrior, and that made the satisfaction when she finally submitted to Lorelei all the sweeter.

Still, she had never entirely _surrendered_ to Lorelei. She had submitted, but never surrendered. Sif had never followed her orders - nor, when the time had come, kept her secrets.

Perhaps, then, she was a challenge Lorelei had never completely overcome. A conquest too treacherous even for her.

She pitied any being that Sif deigned to bestow her heart upon. Lorelei had never been subjected to such a fate.

And now, after it all, after betraying her, capturing her, _ruining_ her, Sif dared to look gravely into her eyes and tell Lorelei that it had been _her_ shortcomings that had landed her in this cell.

If she could have, were her lips not caged by this damned mask, she would have spat at Sif’s feet. If it had not been for _her_ actions, she could have been lounging in her chambers, many floors and ceilings above her. _They_ could have been. As if she knew of the image that had formed in her mind, Sif gave a sad smile.

Lorelei wanted to gouge it off her face.

Without even a wistful glance towards her, Sif turned and left, the door sealing behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extremely short and not a first meeting, I know, but this was the only way I could see this happening. I feel like my hero worship of Sif wheedled its way in here, and I don't regret it at all. Sif's just awesome.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated, thank you muchly!


End file.
